


ad hoc delegatus

by tokyonightskies



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, Gen, Guardian Angels, OPScifiandFantasy Event, Zoro is an angel!AU, opscifiandfantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 00:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4413266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokyonightskies/pseuds/tokyonightskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>say you’re in a booth in a  lolita-themed café and the angel across the table orders a beer. this is not a hypothesis. perona and zoro on the topic of guardianship.</p>
<p>.written for the event by opscifiandfantasy @tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ad hoc delegatus

**Author's Note:**

> .written for the event by opscifiandfantasy @tumblr. - > can also be found in the tag. 
> 
> Seeing as I find the idea of a reluctant guardian angel!Zoro so endlessly amusing, I will most likely (certainly) expand on this verse.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Perona snaps her head up, her right hand suspended mid-air as she suffers to carry the full weight of his glare. Models in white posters brush their knuckles to their glossy lips and coyly gaze down on them from between blackened lashes. It’s past two o’clock and the store is moderately crowded with customers, browsing the rows upon rows of cosmetics: peachy lip gloss, bronzers and blush, brushes, sleek and matte nail polish and sparkly nail decorations and nail glue, and more eyeshadow shades than you can count. Her brows furrow together in indignation and she cutely tilts her head to the right before she utters an offended  _eh?!_ Foundation bottles in the lightest tint and mascara and liquid eyeliner rattle in her red basket as she moves and settles her hand on her jutted-out hip.

“I was trying to touch them of course! See if they’re as real as they look!” She defends herself fiercely as he continues to look upon her impassively.

His features scrunch up in momentary confusion and his arms fall listlessly to his sides and his lips part in exhale. He cautiously casts a glance over his right shoulder, at the folded wings against his back and then he goes back to looking at her. Perona huffs when he crosses his arms over his broad chest – and what kind of a lame t-shirt is that guy wearing?  _This shit is bananas_ , ugh how two thousand something, she thinks to herself.

Suspiciously, he asks, “So you can see them?”

“What?” She squeaks out in surprise, “Were you trying to hide them, then? Well, you were doing a pretty lousy job!” He visibly winces at her loud and grating voice, and recoils by drawing into himself and looking around to see if someone else was paying attention to them.

Some high school girls in their traditional uniforms were giggling girlishly behind the palms of their hands, and their high-pitched laughter was clearly directed at them. Perona felt a wave of embarrassment crash down on her and purses her lips pensively; they wouldn’t think she was actually involved with this guy or something, right? _Whatever_. She straightens her back and stands firm again, takes him in for a split-second, allows her gaze to fall from the weird aureole of light above his head to the expression on his face to the outline of wings peeking up from above his shoulders.  _Huh_. Why aren’t those girls pointing at them, actually?

He cards a hand through his hair (and it’s green! Perona despairs silently, even if it isn’t half  _that_  bad of a dye job) and mutters, “Let’s get outta here. We need to talk.”

Bringing up her basket and shaking it around so the makeup containers slide roughly from right to left to right inside, she growls out that she still needs to pay for these. He couldn’t possibly expect her to forgo her favorite Max Factor foundation because he suddenly realized he got his wings out on full display and got offended that she spotted them to boot. What a weird guy – and she’s sure to tell him this, in a scathing voice. Scratching his nose self-consciously, he pointedly looks at the white-tiled floor for a moment before sighing and murmuring that he knew as much.

There were two girls dressed up in gyaru style in front of them in the queue at the cash register, but they were too caught up chatting about the latest Prada purses that they also didn’t seem to notice the halo above the guy’s head. Perona considers the fact she might’ve temporarily lost her mind but he seems pretty adamant on talking with her about the fact that she  _can see_ his wings. She absentmindedly watches how the cashier bags the girls’ large collection of cosmetics (not even realizing that one of them bought a new black O.P.I. nail polish she didn’t have yet) and doesn’t even get annoyed by the constant buzzing of the malfunctioning TLC bar above them, like she normally would’ve been.

After Perona paid and grabbed the store’s brochure and dumped everything in her bat-shaped purse, she marched through the automatic doors with the weird guy hot on her mary jane heels. She spins around on the pavement to face him and looks up at him expectantly, waiting for him to start his explanation. It better be a good one for dragging her away from her shopping, she has to stock up on cosmetics.

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and says bluntly, “I’m an angel.”

“That’s not how the pick-up line goes, y’know.” She retorts, trying to maintain an unimpressed expression on her face.

People pass by them in throngs: men in business suits, convenience store employees, teenagers and tourists, a couple of girls in lolita getup she doesn’t recognize from Harajuku, a family with the dad carrying his son in his neck. The guy rolls his eyes at her and rubs his left elbow furiously.

He’s getting exasperated, she notes with an odd sense of accomplishment, and forces himself to right his posture before suggesting, “Look, this isn’t something I should be speaking about on the streets. Is there some place where we can talk this over without so many people around?”

“If you’re trying to ask me out, you’re really going to need to try harder but I guess the wings make you sort of cute…” Perona says in her most casual tone, holding back the grin that threatens to overtake her lips.

His reaction isn’t what she thought it’d be: he flushes beet red before groaning loudly and his wings shift behind his back, flapping out and stretching – they’re so  _big_ , Perona marvels, and look so soft. _Ugh_ , what a shame he wouldn’t let her touch them. Some people walk straight through them, and although he himself looks unaffected by the intrusion, she clearly sees a middle-aged salary man shivering after he strutted through the right wing.

“Can you stop being infuriating for five minutes?” He asks of her, before shifting his wings again and noticing how she watches them intently. “Stop looking at them. People are gonna think something’s wrong with you.” Giving her a once-over, he adds quietly, “Not that I’d blame them.”

Perona snatches his wrist and tugs him forwards, leaving him to stumble after her. She wails, “You’re _one_ to talk. Interrupting my shopping like that, not speaking plainly,  _ugh_. We’re going to my favorite café and you’re going to treat me, mister…”

She stops then, suddenly, almost causing him to bump into her. His cheeks are dusted red and he pulls back his arm as if her touch burned him, as if her fingertips left indents in his skin. Turning to him, with her frilly skirt fluttering around her knees, she presses her right hand to her hip and scowls up at him, accusing and slightly cross. His eyes narrow as he stares back at her, at a loss for how to proceed, as if he’s never met a weird mortal girl like her before: she dresses for a funeral, but she acts as loud and abrasive as if she’s at her own birthday party.

“How rude! You haven’t even told me your name!” She screeches, causing a bunch of tourists to turn their way and ogle them blatantly with cameras hanging around their necks.

Zoro balks; the hinge of his jaw almost blown off in surprise, he throws his hands in the air and takes a deep steadying breath. Out of all the mortals who can see his wings and his halo, it had to be this one.

“You haven’t told me yours either!” He fires back just as hotly, crossing his arms in front of his chest and using his height to his advantage by staring down at her.

She rolls her eyes and retorts tartly, “I don’t give my name to strangers! And don’t dodge my question! I asked you first!” Her fingers strum the velvet fabric over her hip.

If Zoro’s intention was to stop her from causing a scene and dragging attention to them, he failed miserably. His wings twitch irritably and he feels the softness of the feathers tickling the back of his elbows. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he slowly shakes his head and straightens back up again: his best course of action would be to get them somewhere secluded so he can talk everything over with her and make her promise her silence. It baffles him that of all times he’d run into someone who has a divine calling, it had to be right now.

Bristling, he grits out, “Fine. Whatever. Call me Zoro. Are we gonna move or not?”

“See you  _can_ be polite, somewhat.” She responds with a hint of a smile playing along her lips as he sighs, she rearranges the strap of her bat-shaped bag over her shoulder and introduces herself, “I’m Perona. Let’s go to the café now! They have the best flavors of tea and their biscuits are to die for, trust me.”

It’s a five minute stroll through Shinjuku to get to the café and she kept rambling on and on about stuff he wasn’t really paying attention to, like what one of the mannequins is wearing behind the shop windows or how she once drank the best mango smoothie over there at the stall and he just watches her warily, low-key amazed at how much energy there’s contained in her mortal girl’s body. She latches onto his hand when he almost turns to the wrong alley – he honestly thought she said they needed to go left, it’s not  _his_ fault she’s confusing.

Soon enough he finds himself crammed in a booth with plush cushions bracketing his sides: the general atmosphere of the café reminds him of the mid-eighteenth century if he chooses to focus on the decorations and the dresses of the waitresses. There’s an absurd amount of lace pooled over the table top like a spidery blanket. One glance at Perona and it suffices to know that she thrives in this environment. He leafs through the menu, shoulders hunched inwards, and narrows his eyes when he reads the price for every dish and drink.

She presses her knuckles to her chin and gives him a pretty smile, saying that he doesn’t have to treat her to anything  _too_  expensive. Her bat-shaped purse lies on the table next to her napkin.

“You have people’s money, right?” Perona perks up as she asks this, leaning back against her seat, suddenly forgetting that she was dealing with an angel.

Zoro grunts, shifts around a bit to grabble a few rumpled yen bills from his pocket and slams them down on the table none too gently. She regards the money skeptically, then she delicately smoothens a thousand yen bill with her thumbs and looks back up at him again. One of the waitresses eyes them warily from above the cupcake plateaus on the counter. He folds his arms behind his head, leans back and closes his eyes.

“Where did you get this?” Perona asks, looking at him wide-eyed, before leaning in and offering in a conspiring whisper, “From a church?”

Zoro scoffs, frowning and comes to drum his fingertips on the tabletop, rebutting, “You seen any churches around here? I have a job, okay.”

Here the waitress cuts into the conversation with a polite smile and asks if she can take their orders. Perona nods enthusiastically and opens her menu on the page with all the tea brands and points at one of the pictures. She’d also like some butterscotch biscuits, please. Zoro doesn’t really care about all the different flavors and colors and he all but flips through the sweets section in disinterest before settling on a bottle of Asahi beer. He ignores how the waitress cringes at his choice. Perona’s reaction however, is harder to ignore and he gives her his most impressive glower.

“Fine, fine. Don’t widen your taste palate.” She relents with a haughty look and settles into her seat, crossing her legs and fumbling with her skirt. After the waitress has gone back to the counter, she continues their earlier topic of conversation, “So where do you work, then?! Oh oh, can I guess? It must be somewhere…” She taps her finger to her lips thoughtfully before she continues, “Good.. An orphanage? Or maybe…”

He quickly breaks her little game off with a deadpan, “At a graffiti shop.”

“Eh? Really? Where’s the holiness in that?” Her voice rises a pitch and he unceremoniously scratches the shell of his ear.

For the umpteenth time he wants to know for himself why this one had to see his wings. He examines her face for a brief moment, takes in the childish wonder and her open mouth, the curve of the cupid’s bow of her upper lip and the pale powdered skin around it. The light of his aureole brightens automatically and she has to look away for a second.

Zoro sighs and eventually says, “It’s easier to spread the message that way.”

He sees that she doesn’t understand and to be honest, not many mortals do: it’s easy to find the cause of their confusion if the messages on some of the graffiti murals are read aloud. Curse words, cute pop culture figures and catcalls aren’t exactly written down to spread the name of the… His right hand instinctively clenches into a righteous fist as he feels such warmth seep into the scars circling his ankles; so warm it’s almost like hellfire.

“I don’t get it.” Perona murmurs, her features scrunching up before she pins him down with her heavy gaze, “Explain it.”

Imagine stumbling in a club’s or a café’s bathroom stall, feeling all down and depressed. There’s something scribbled on the door, something that stands apart from the phone numbers and pseudo-philosophical discussions of dead-drunk people. It’s an appeal to act kind to your friends and family. It’s a little pick-you-up for when you’ve puked your guts out or caught your partner making out with someone else.

His mouth twitches into a small smirk. His voice is much kinder than it’s been up until now: go to the second bathroom stall and read the sentence in the lower right corner and you will. – (It’s a paraphrase of the Biblical verse John 11:40, and even paraphrase is too narrow a word to describe. Not a reinterpretation, but an uncompleted translation, complete with blanks.)

“How do you know something’s there?” She shoots back immediately, suspicious of his sudden command.

Zoro shrugs and mutters lowly that it’s just a hunch. He can’t begin to explain that he can feel those paper trail traces of other messengers like himself, can’t even imagine how she could grasp the depth of belonging he feels when he’s close to those words. So he just doesn’t. Perona’s about to stand up (undoubtedly because curiosity’s gotten the best of her, Zoro suspects) when the waitress arrives with a service cart. The ceramic of the biscuit plate and the teacup clacks pleasantly on the steel of the cart, while the glasswork jingles. The wheels scratch slightly, screeching over the tiles of the floor and the dreaded sound makes his wings twitch.

They get their beverages settled in front of them and the plate of biscuits is placed in between them and they each get a linen napkin with the initials of the café embroidered at the bottom in a flourish red. The waitress pours Zoro’s beer in the glass, despite his protests that he would’ve easily drank from the bottle as well, and carefully arranges the silver spoon next to the ceramic teacup and saucer. She gives them a bow and takes her cart away with her; the scratching wheels reminding Zoro of scars he’d rather forget he has. His ankles feel like someone doused them in sulfuric acid and a waft of brimstone seems to blur his senses.

Perona notes how his grip on the cool glass seems to tighten and frowns at his sudden shift of mood. She prods his whitened knuckles and hisses, “You’re being weird…” She purses her lips and amends, “Well, _weirder_.”

He takes a gulp of his beer and  _ah_ ’s at the taste. Says that he’s just thinking.

“About?” She prompts back as she dips one of her biscuits into the tea. Her teeth sink into the wet and soft butterscotch before some of it comes crumbling to the tablecloth.

Another sip; smaller and less urgent. He swallows and she watches how his adam’s apple bobs along the movement.

“Doesn’t matter.” Zoro admits eventually, taking her childish glower in stride. He does look annoyed when she gives him a soft kick under the table. Unfair tactics.

Her silver spoon clinks against the ceramic of her saucer when she’s stirred her tea and put it back. She stares quizzically at him from above her teacup and the steam drags translucent swipes along the heart-like outline of her face and she wonders, “So why can I see your wings, Zoro?” Her eyes grow wide as she just thinks of something and asks immediately after, “Am I going to be a prophet?!”

His face goes blank and she jabs the tip of her shoe against his left shin in order to elicit a reaction. Not even a yelp, but his mouth furls into a disgruntled grimace and his eyebrows furrow together. He scoffs and grabs his glass, puts it to his mouth (and Perona can’t look away from his wetted lips for some reason, this  _should_ gross her out. But it doesn’t?), drinks until there’s nothing left but some amber and a drop of foam. Her nose scrunches up when he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Nah.” Zoro finally responds, digging the sharp of his elbows into the tablecloth, wrinkling up the fabric, “That’s probably not it.”

It’s so anticlimactic she wants to scream at the top of her lungs. “What’s that supposed to mean?! Don’t you think I could be?!” She  _doesn’t_  care the waitresses, all three of them in their chiffon dresses (and they’re from Victorian Maiden too, Perona recognizes the style of brand right away.), are staring unabashedly at them now.

“Not my call.” His reply comes with a small shrug and the motion of his hand carding through his hair – with the light of his halo falling down and painting his skin a molten gold. “If you wanna know what I think… I think it’s fate. You need a guardian angel or something?”

She almost drops her teacup at the last part of his question. Some of the tea splashes over and drenches into the tablecloth.  _What is he implying? That she can’t take care of herself?_ Perona snatches the napkin and presses it unto the small drop-like stains in a belated attempt to clean everything up.

“You think you’re supposed to be my guardian angel?” Her tone of voice manages to convey incredulity and offense in equal parts. Perona shoves a butterscotch biscuit into her mouth, chews and swallows all the while not taking her eyes off him.

Zoro doesn’t say anything about her theatrics, opting to state that he was just making a suggestion.

He then proceeds to ask her something nobody has asked her in a very long time, “Are you happy?”

Perona blinks slowly and folds her hands into her lap, smacks her lips together and mulls it over. Her lack of immediate response prompts Zoro to sit straighter and lean forwards even a little bit. She sees his wings shift through the cushions, but she doesn’t seem to realize it.  _So my financial status is a bit unsteady_ , she thinks to herself,  _and I don’t go socializing much, but I love my hobbies and…_  Her fingertips press down on her upper legs.

“Do I look unhappy then?” She hates how unsure she sounds even if she tried to sound angry or annoyed.

He doesn’t bother with decorum as he says almost mercilessly, “Yeah, a little bit.”

She huffs and puffs up her cheeks in a display of childish petulance before murmuring, “So what now? You’re going to trail after me like in the stories?” Looking directly at him and his stupid shirt again, she shakes her head and complains softly, “Because we’re going to get you some nicer clothes if I want to be seen with you in public. Ugh, what a bother.”

“I’m not gonna trail after you like a dumb dog or something.” Zoro rolls his eyes as he says this. He tugs at the collar of his shirt and stares at her and almost shouts, “And what’s wrong with my clothes?!”

Perona brings her hand to her cheek and sighs dramatically. “Everything. This is what I meant.. Keep it down, you winged idiot, I don’t want the waitress to come over because you can’t be quiet.” This time the annoyance in her voice is genuine.

He rolls his eyes and grits out that he’s ready for the bill anyway. Meanwhile she takes another sip of her lukewarm tea and motions him to wave the waitress over. The waitress asks them if everything was to their expectations and starts loading the empty teacup, saucer, glass and cutlery onto the cart. Zoro blanches every time the waitress moves the cart about and she has to admit the squeaking of the wheels gets annoying but she doesn’t get the deal anyway. All Perona knows is that she’ll be seeing this basketcase a lot more.

About to take her cute money pouch from her handbag, she’s stopped by Zoro clacking his tongue and as she turns her head, she watches how he ends up paying for everything.

“I told you you didn’t have to treat me everything.” Perona chides as they get up from their seats. She slings the strap of her purse over her shoulder.

His halo brightens for a moment and the light washes his hair in silvers and whites down to the roots. It’s gone just as quickly. Zoro shrugs and says, “You’ll treat me the next time then, no big deal.”

They’re out on the street again, ready to go their separate ways and she wonders what’ll happen from here on out. Is he going to pop up at her apartment to give her some advice once in a while? Tail her from a distance to keep her from harm? How does this guardian angel thing work anyway? She stares at Zoro again, who seems content to stretch his arms above his head and yawn for everyone out here to see. Her mood plummets all the way down from the stratosphere.

“So now what?” Perona questions curiously, impatiently.

Zoro hums and takes out his phone from the back pocket of his chino jeans and swipes the screen and hands it to her. It doesn’t even have a cute cellphone charm, she thinks to herself as she cradles the thing close.

“Gimme your mail and we’ll keep in touch.”

She starts to type in her address in his contacts, a bit disappointed there are no divine messages for her to interpret or doves to be on the look-out for. Still, the guy works at a graffiti shop so maybe she should pay some more attention to the murals, as short-lived as they are. Police forces tend to be rather strict on graffiti artists who don’t use the designated walls and most consider them vandals from the start. What did he say about the bathroom stall door again?, she tries to remember but it escapes her for the moment.

“And you’ll be my spiritual guide from now on?” Perona asks to get things clear. She’d hate to have a slip-up and embarrass herself.

Zoro raises an eyebrow as he pockets his phone again. “Nah, I’m going to be there for you. Listen to all your problems and stuff, I guess.” He scratches his nose as he contemplates something and begins again, “I’ve never done this before either, but fate is fate.”

“God works in mysterious ways.” Perona quotes in English, offering a pretty grin.

Her lips stretch into a thin line when she sees him tense up. Her accent isn’t that horrible so it must’ve been what she said. He can understand it, right? He must understand! He’s an angel and aren’t those universal?

“Yeah.” Zoro catches himself and his wings flap irritably. “Something like that.” He stares at the other side of the street, at a sushi place with an okonomiyaki restaurant above it and continues, “I’ll give you my mail too and then I’m gonna go.”

She digs out her phone and gives it to him, tapping her heels onto the pavement as she waits for him to finish up. Her voice is deeper than it usually is, when she acts all cute and girlish. “So, we’re going to stay in touch?”

“Uhu.”

Perona jabs him in the chest with her forefinger and smiles up at him, not intimidated by his halo and wings and the fact that he’s a good deal taller than her. “Wear another shirt. This color clashes with your hair. I don’t ever want my guardian angel to look unfashionable in my presence.”

He rolls his eyes and calmly takes her by the wrist (and his skin is so warm!, Perona immediately thinks). “Don’t be so bossy. But fine, whatever, I’ll wear something else next time.” Tilting his head to the right and eying her pensively, he also says, “You should think about your life and what you want. It could help us out in the long run.”

Not expecting this thoughtfulness, she pulls herself free from his loose hold and rubs her tingling wrist. “What I want? That’s easy. I could hand you a list right now!” She chirps, feigning a happy-go-lucky grin.

“What you really want.” He stresses the ‘ _really_ ’, as if she wouldn’t understand otherwise.

Perona huffs and pulls at the hem of her skirt, gaze downcast. What she  _really_ wants, huh? Two years ago, she was working occasionally as an alternative model for Gothic & Lolita Bible-photographer Gecko Moriah, but it was hard and demanding work, not as glamorous as people usually think professional modeling is. She’s already twenty-four and while she adores fashion, makeup, macabre trinkets and cute stuff, she can’t see herself posing for the rest of a short-lived model life. Ugh, she’s really going to have to put some thought in this entire guardian angel stuff.

“Alright, alright.” She acquiesces with some sense of finality. “I will.” It shouldn’t sound so much as a promise, but it does.

Zoro gives her a small nod and folds his arms behind his head, making that godawful shirt ride up his stomach a bit. Just as he was about to open his mouth to say his goodbyes, his ringtone blares and startles a Family Mart employee who was passing by in quick even strides while fumbling with the bow of his apron tied on his stomach. Perona gives him an apologetic smile and sticks out her tongue, making the teen flush furiously and stumble on even faster. When she looks back at Zoro, she immediately notices how bright and white the halo around his head is, how his wings twitch and shake behind his back, how his eyes are hard as steel.

He grits out, “You sure it’s  _him_?”

Instinctively, she starts to play with the strap of her purse; a nervous habit she couldn’t ditch no matter how much she puts her mind to it. He sounds so  _angry_ , Perona muses as she watches him set his jaw (almost in marble) and straighten his back. Their gazes cross and in a flash, the untouchable cold in his eyes melts and disappears, but doesn’t roll off the tenseness in his posture. She feels so removed from him and it unsettles her for some reason. He’s supposed to be  _her_ guardian angel or something, what is he whispering about?

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for the info Robin. I’ll come.. What? Haul a cab? Why?  _I wasn’t lost_.” Zoro forces himself to take a deep breath, ends the call and stuffs his phone into his back pocket, looking halfway between angry and pissed off.

Perona clacks her heels together and immediately dives into her inquiry, “What was that all about? Who is Robin? Is she another charge of yours?” Her expression changes into one of pure wonder, “Is she another  _angel?_ ”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He says and before she can protest, he continues quickly, “I can’t explain right now. Listen, think everything over and contact me. Or I’ll contact you, whatever. I’m going to go ahead now.” His wings shift and fold against his back again when he ends his sentence.

Zoro walks over to the curb and raises his hand, waves a taxi over to the sidewalk. She jolts into action, with her heels making sharp staccato taps on the concrete and her voice never really leaving her mouth. She sees the light of his halo, the brightness of his aureole bleaching his green hair a tainted white as he gets in and gives her one last look. Her hands ball into fists and it starts to drizzle; she can smell the rain in the air in between that of street food. Her curiosity left hungry in the pit of her stomach.

Stomping her feet down as if she was a child, she huffs loudly in disappointment and crosses her arms in front of her chest. Her glare is directed at the slow traffic on the street in front of her and if she turns her head to the right, she can watch how the taxi takes a turn left at the crossroads. Perona sighs, spins around and struts over to the closest subway entrance, all the while musing over the puzzle presented to her.

What does she  _really_ want? Well, what she does know for certain is that she wants it to stop raining because she hates having wet hair and wet clothes.

Maybe I’ll text that stupid guy tonight, Perona grumbles quietly to herself as she walks down the stairs, surrounded by advertisement posters, to tell him how rude it is to disappear on a lady like that.

It’s a comforting thought, to be able to wallow in her own irritation for a while and redirect them to the source of her irritation. Still, she wonders who Zoro meant and why he had to run off so quickly. She hears the subway trains screeching to a halt on the rails, hears the automatic voice remind her to take proper distance from the track. She’ll be sure to demand an explanation for all of that too.


End file.
